Just Run
by Striped Candycane
Summary: Hermione Granger hides an insecure spirit behind an outgoing face...Draco Malfoy has a mission that haunts him. An unlikely match? Yes. Impossible? Nothing is...
1. Fly

**Chapter 1 - Fly**

Hermione Granger stood in the morning mist, shivering slightly. She hadn't brought a cloak, her robes had been thrown hastily over her pyjamas, but it didn't matter. She wouldn't be cold for long.

Her caramel eyes scanned the grounds. The world was grey, the fuzzy neither-here-nor-there colour right before dawn. Everything was soft in the dim light, from the grass beneath her feet to the imposing shape of the Forbidden Forest in the distance. Harsh reality covered by a gauzy veil of fog.

She took a deep breath, tasting the fresh scent of morning. Then, without a prelude of any sort, she began to run.

She loved the feeling. When she ran, there were no thoughts, no pain in her side, no people to stare. There was no time, no space, just the feel of the dewy grass and the thump of her feet and her breath coming out in steady puffs.

_Fly._

She skimmed, she drifted, she soared. Her body was dragging her down, so she shed it, leaving it gasping a little behind her. Her thoughts split into a million pieces and fell away, the splinters glinting and glimmering on the lawn. The air flowed through her paper-thin skin, filling her like an empty bowl, rushing in her ears, whipping her hair. She was no longer Hermione Granger, smartest witch of the year, Ron Weasley's girlfriend, Harry Potter's sidekick, insufferable know-it-all. She just _was_.

Too soon, the sun came up, burning through the ethereal mist. Welcome to the real world. She sighed and started back to Hogwarts, her body heavy and awkward after the lightness she had felt only moments before.

* * *

Grey-blue glacier eyes watched her leave. _I never knew the Mudblood was so fast..._

* * *

**A/N:** This is just an introduction, the next part should be up in a couple of days. Half-Blood Prince is considered non-existant in this story, not because I didn't like Dumbledore dying (it was sad, but an interesting plot twist) but because I have more freedom this way. Please R&R! 

WARNING: The HGDM should take a few chapters...I feel it's important to develop the characters before throwing them into a romantic relationship, so bear with me.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the partial plot.


	2. Lie

**Chapter 2 - Lie**

The Gryffindor common room was empty when Hermione got back. All the students were still asleep, blissfully unaware that soon alarm clocks would be going off all over the Tower.

Hermione tiptoed across the dormitory, grabbed some clothes, and slipped into the bathroom. She would take a shower now, before the traditional morning hassle over who would get to shower first ensued.

Hermione liked her showers _hot_. Almost scalding. The steam swirled around her until she could barely see what was in front of her. Good.

The water flowed gently around her, easing some of the tension pent up inside. She scrubbed at her skin vigorously, as if she could scrape away the cocoon that encased her and emerge a butterfly.

No such luck.

When she had finished, she sat at the bottom of the shower, letting the water slide down her back and neck. Wishing she could stay like that forever.

From the dormitory, she could hear a few groans from girls in the process of waking up. Reluctantly, she switched off the shower and wrapped herself in a towel. As the steam cleared, she stared at her fuzzy reflection in the foggy bathroom mirror. Her fingers traced a clean line where her eyes were, leaving the rest unfocused. Mirror-Hermione gazed back at her, caramel-eyes wide. It always surprised Real-Hermione how big Mirror-Hermione's eyes were.

As soon as her reflection began to sharpen, she turned away to get dressed. Standard gear: faded jeans and an overlarge t-shirt under her robes. No make-up, which she thought made her look like an alien with conjunctivitis, and anyway, Ron liked her the way she was.

_Ron_.

She smiled at the thought. She loved him, she really did. Love like a steady candle flame that burned in her chest. But then again...

The little nagging thought, always at the edge of her mind. The one that no amount of running would leave behind.

_Can he feel it too? _

Sometimes it was as if she was just another girl to him. Sometimes she would tell him something, and he wouldn't seem to hear. Sometimes he would smile at her, and it was only friendly, never loving. Sometimes when they kissed, his lips would feel like ice.

And she couldn't loose him, she really couldn't. Because Ron was a friend first, and a boyfriend second. She needed him, because he held her together. He kept her afloat.

_Now Hermione_, she told herself firmly, _you are NOT going to worry about this like an insecure, lovesick first year. You and Ron are _fine.

To prove her point, she grabbed a brush and began to pull it vigorously through her hair, as if it would extract all troublesome thoughts from her head. Vaguely, she wondered if she should straighten her bushy mane for Ron, but quickly decided otherwise. She had decided long ago that she wouldn't change for anyone. What they saw is what they would get: frizzy hair came with the package.

She walked briskly out of the bathroom and was met by girls drowsily making half-hearted efforts to get out of bed. She quickly walked over to Ginny's bed. The redhead was deep under the covers, the tip of her head protruding from the mass of blankets.

"Rise and shine sleepyhead!" Hermione said in that cheerful voice she knew would annoy her.

Ginny muttered something about psychotic bushy beavers. Hermione instantly grabbed the pillow from under her head and smacked Ginny with it.

"YOU'RE GOING TO MISS BREAKFAST!"

No response.

"Ginny…" Hermione whispered. "If you don't get up this minute, I'm going to get a bucket of VERY cold water and –"

"Alright, I'm up!" groaned Ginny, sitting up in bed and blinking blearily.

"Good." said Hermione brightly. "See you at breakfast then!" She grabbed her books and headed to the Great Hall.

As usual, she was early. Only a handful of students scattered the Hall as she sat

down and pulled out _From Bats to Beanbags: The Complete Guide to 7th Year Transfiguration. _N.E.W.T.S weren't that far off, and she was feeling the familiar pressure that meant exams were nearing. Her body would go into a study-frenzy, slowly increasing in speed until the day of the test, when she would dissolve into a puddle of facts and figures and wouldn't come back to life until a week later.

She was so absorbed in her book that she didn't notice Ron and Harry sit down next to her.

"Earth to Hermione…" Ron said, waving his hand in front of her eyes.

She snapped to life. "Yes?"

"Welcome back and good morning." said Harry, helping himself to some eggs.

"Exactly…where's my morning kiss?" Ron pouted.

Hermione smiled and gave him a peck on his lips. _See Hermione, he still wants you!_

"So where were you last night?" she asked Ron, taking a sip of pumpkin juice and grimacing. Too sweet.

"I was practicing Quidditch. Big game coming up, you know." Hermione nodded.

Just then, Demelza Robins came up to where they were sitting.

"Hey, Harry!" she said enthusiastically. "I was just wondering when the next Quidditch practice is going –"

Hermione watched her lips mouth the words. Laughing big-teeth smile. What were they talking about? Quidditch? It sounded more like blah so blad blah to blah blahing on blah…How could someone be so obsessed with a moving broom, a few zooming balls, and what looked like bubble-blowing devices stuck into the ground?

Demelza fiddled absent-mindedly with the end of her braid. Ron said something, and she grinned. Leaned over to touch him lightly on the arm. Looking up at him with big blue-green eyes. Sizzle. Boil. Boil.

_Snap _out _of it Hermione! There's no reason to be jealous..._

Ron smiling that smile. Smiling at Demelza.

_Bang_.

Without meaning to, Hermione slammed her book on the table. Ron and Harry and Demelza looked at her curiously.

"Are you alright?" Ron asked her worriedly.

Yes, quite all right." Hermione said, smiling brightly. Hoping her teeth wouldn't shatter. "I'm going to Charms early. Need to ask Professor Flitwick something."

What a lie. _But for a good cause_, she told herself. If she had stayed a minute longer, she might have exploded into sparks of what they would never see. Splinters of thoughts that needed to stay hidden.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks to **Stary** and **Ardelis Mercy**, my first reviewers! You guys rock. For those who haven't...please R&R! 

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the partial plot.


	3. Scream

**Chapter 3 - (Don't) Scream**

Classes went by in a whirlwind of faces and questions and sparks and potions. Hermione felt like a giant robot, a programmed NerdWitch, model 260. Perfect for all your classroom needs! Watch her complete all tasks with automatic ease! Smile at McGonagall, Hermione. Don't fall asleep in History of Magic, Hermione. Make sure Neville doesn't ruin the potion, Hermione. Isn't she a good girl? Isn't she just perfect? Why can't you all be as perfect as Hermione?

But being automatic was exhausting. So tiring, that at dinner, she had muttered something to Harry and Ron about homework and made her way to the library, meaning to study but subconsciously hoping she would find a big fat book to use as a pillow.

The halls were empty at this time of the evening. Most students (the intelligent ones, anyway, thought Hermione) were in the Great Hall taking advantage of the time to chat with their friends and eat the food. The _house elf_ food, she thought savagely. She wouldn't have eaten a bite of it, she really wouldn't have, only in the 4th year she had fainted from lack of nourishment. After that, Harry and Ron had insisted firmly, rolling their eyes in exasperation as she protested from the Hospital Wing, that she needed to eat. House elf freedom could wait. Hermione had agreed, but only because she decided that if she died of starvation, there would be no help for the poor elves. She was their last hope.

She was rounding a corner when somebody grabbed her roughly by the arm and pulled her into an empty classroom.

She didn't scream.

She didn't try to get a better look at her captor.

She knew who they were. She knew what would happen.

Frantically, her fingers scrabbled for flesh, digging her nails into every inch of skin she could reach.

_"Bitch" _she heard someone gasp, and she was thrown against a wall.

She didn't scream.

She didn't look at them.

She got swiftly to her feet and looked around.

The classroom was filled with desks; the door was on the opposite end of the room. There was a window within reach, but she wasn't crazy enough to jump off the 5th floor. There was no place to hide. No place to run. She needed to run. And run. And-

_No. _She would _not _let panic take over. She would stay calm. Hermione Granger would not be scared.

She stepped protectively in front of her books strewn about the floor, pulled her wand out of her robes, and looked at _them _straight in the eyes.

Slytherins.

It was amazing how such a simple word could create such hatred. For Hermione Granger, it was a simple equation: Slytherin equaled evil. It scared her sometimes; to know just how much hate she was capable of feeling. She hadn't always felt this way about Slytherins, had she? Surely not...no, she remembered now. It had all started with Malfoy, the ferret, calling her a Mudblood. She hadn't known what it meant at the time of course, and had only felt slightly annoyed when Malfoy called her one. But then at Hagrid's cabin, Ron twisting his face up in anger and saying with obvious venom: _it's a disgusting thing to call someone…dirty blood, see..._

Second-year Hermione said that it didn't bother her, no Ron, it's not worth fighting over, but something tugged inside her. On most levels, she _didn't _really care if someone called her a Mudblood. It was just a name, after all. But some hidden space inside her was appalled at the meaning, _dirty blood. _As if she was a lowly creature of slime and filth. She was human, wasn't she? She was a witch, wasn't she? Better than most of _them _anyway: she had worked hard to prove it. The hate spouted from this fountain of disbelief. Someone who could come up with such a low insult, as if she was disgustingly unbearable and didn't have the slightest amount of dignity, had to be _evil_.

If they were Slytherins, it didn't matter who they were. Because it would never mean any thing good to her.

Marcus Flint stood before her, flanked by (who else?) Crabbe and Goyle. Not good. They weren't the most intelligent of people (to put it nicely), but they were much stronger than she was: hulking masses of muscles next to her scrawny frame. And she didn't have much of a plan, other than a constant litany in her head: _don't let go of your wand...don't let go of your wand..._

_"Expelliarmus_!" she cried frantically, trying to swallow the panic in her throat. The spell was badly aimed: it ricocheted off the desk to the left of Goyle and hit the ceiling in a shower of harmless sparks. It wouldn't have done much good anyways, she thought heavily. As it was, the spell had only managed to betray the tremor in her voice.

Marcus Flint grinned at her. All teeth, no smile. "Oooo, is the Mudblood _scared_?"

Hermione clenched her wand so her knuckles turned white. _I won't get angry, they're not worth it_...

"I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave."

Cue the Grabbe and Goyle sniggers.

Crabbe and Goyle sniggered. Hermione's lips curled up in a small smile. Maybe she should have another go at Divination, she thought sarcastically.

Flint saw her smile and scowled. "What are you smirking at Mudblood?"

_At the way the two jellified lumps of stupidity next to you laugh at every thing you say...like they actually get anything. And "mudblood" has GOT to be the wittiest insult to ever bless the earth. And how in the world did you come up with that stinging comment about Gryffindor bravery? Must have spent _months _dreaming it up. No wonder you failed last year...and the year before that. But don't worry, for a troll you're doing pretty well. Most of them never get to Hogwarts in the first place. I think you might even have a single brain cell! _

Brilliant, now she just had to say it all...

And before Look-Before-You-Leap-Hermione could stop Fiery-Never-Mind-The-Danger-Hermione, she had.

The euphoria after the insult gave her a brief instant of perfect strength. She felt a little flame of heat build up into an angry bonfire that consumed her, as she looked the Slytherin dead in the eyes.

"So sad...you couldn't get a girlfriend, so you're forced to walk around with two hulking goons on your arms. And even _those _aren't yours, you had to borrow them from Ferret Malfoy." Might as well drag her archenemy into this as well.

She was most likely going to pay for what she had just said, but she didn't really care. She clutched her wand tightly as Crabbe and Goyle rushed toward her. Distracted for a second, she didn't see Flint give an inhuman snarl, didn't see his lips mouth the spell until it was too late. _NO! _She screamed in her head, but it was too late, her wand had flown out of her grasp and she was thrown back as her head hit the wall, she could taste blood in her mouth (_tangy metal) _and all she could do was try to punch and kick and pinch until her wings were torn to shreds and she fell down in a crumpled Drooble's Best Blowing Gum wrapper as the blows hailed down in torrents-

Don't scream. Never scream.

_Darkness_.

Goodbye pain.

* * *

**A/N:** The good news: I've written up to Chapter 7! The bad news: the HGDM doesn't appear until then...But read it all anyway! Thanks to all those who R&R...if you haven't, then please please please do so.

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing but the partial plot.


	4. Reflect

**Chapter 4 - Reflect**

A middle-aged woman sat in a armchair in front of the fire, the only spot of brightness in the otherwise dimly-lit room. Her long wavy blonde hair fell over her face, hiding her expression, but her thin pale hands lying in her lap were shaking.

The door opened, and a young man with similarly blond hair strode in. The woman didn't look up, but continued staring into the flame.

"You've accepted, haven't you Draco?"

The young man's face remained expressionless. "I had to Mother. With Father gone to Azkaban -"

The woman grabbed him by the arm and looked him in the face, her eyes dark and glistening. "And you thought this would make it all better, didn't you?" She whispered, her voice cracking "You thought that you _had _to do this, as your duty to the Malfoys."

"But you must admit that-"

"Draco, I won't allow it! You're too young!"

He shifted his feet nervously. "Yes, well ..the Dark Lord seemed to think that I was best for the job."

Narcissa Malfoy (for that was her name) gave a short hysterical kind of laugh. "_The_ _Dark Lord seemed to think? _There was a time when my son wouldn't have cared what the Dark Lord thought."

"You should be careful mother," her son said gently but firmly "those thoughts are verging on treachery."

"Yes, you're right." she said, subdued. "I'm sure he knows what's best and thinks you ready. But still...you're my son...my only son...I suppose their isn't any chance - could you- can't he -"

"No." Draco cut in swiftly, his face darkening. "I've made up my mind, and you had best keep your opinions to yourself." He walked quickly out of the room, but not before Narcissa could throw a last remark at him, tinged with disgust and regret.

_"You're becoming just like them..."_

* * *

Now Draco sat at the edge of the Malfoy Manor pond, staring at his reflection on the surface laced with algae. A goldfish swam through the water, rippling his face as it melted away. His mother's voice echoed back at him: _just like them_. 

He wasn't like them. He would never be. He had promised himself that long ago.

So why had he accepted?

It had to do, in part, with the fact that his father was in Azkaban. He had thought at first that this meant the end, that he would never have to slave under the Dark Lord, but soon he saw the truth: the day his father had been sentenced to prison, his life was condemned as well. He would have to take his father's place. And he would do this with pride, with Malfoy pride, because in the end, what else was there to do? Turn to Potter's and the Oh-So-Perfect Gryffindor's side? There he could find nothing he stood for there. He couldn't fight for a cause he didn't believe in.

But did he really want to kill all the blood traitors, those that had no wizard blood?

The wizard's race _must _be purified: a phrase that had been whispered to him over the cradle instead of those silly muggle nursery rhymes about pigs and pumpkins and plums. It was hard to break out of the mould built for him since infancy.

So who was he? He wanted to rid the world of dirty blood, he wanted to fight for the Dark Lord.

For the life of him, he couldn't seem to find that faint line that used to exist between _him _and _them_.

* * *

**A/N:** Oooo, Draco's an angsty teenager...and he's got a mission! I know, it's cliched, but I find giving Draco a mission seemes to deepen his character. Since I'm going on vacation, the next part won't be out for another week. For all those who **R&R**, thank you! 

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing but the partial plot.


	5. Conceal

**Chapter 5 - Conceal**

When Hermione woke up, she half-wished she were unconscious again. It was impossible to know how many injuries she had by feeling the pain: her entire body felt like one giant throbbing bruise.

She sat up carefully and examined the map of injuries that stretched across her otherwise smooth skin. Not too bad: her back and legs were stained with islands of bruises and scratches, but only a few purple continents marred her stomach. She could feel her left eye beginning to swell to the size of Mount Everest, and she had a cut snaking like a river on her lip, but it wasn't too deep. She'd had worse.

Her eyes scanned the room for her wand, which was lying in a corner. She was just glad that the Slytherins hadn't snapped it in half (she lived in constant fear of finding it broken into bits of vine wood) but so far it had never happened. Gingerly, she got to her feet and crossed the room to retrieve it. She uttered a simple healing spell over each of her injuries, and the pain eased enough so she could keep it under controle. A concealing spell went over the rest: she didn't want Harry and Ron finding out. Harry would gasp and Ron would rant and they would both suggest going to Dumbledore. They just didn't _understand. _This was between her and the Slytherins. She had to do it herself. She would win this battle alone.

After straightening her clothes, gathering her books, and getting rid of a few flecks of blood with a flick of her wand, she made her way to the Gryffindor Common Room. She estimated that a couple of hours had passed since she had blacked out: Harry and Ron would be beginning to worry.

Sure enough, when she entered the common room, a mop of red hair and salted freckled instantly ran up to her.

"Hermione! Where were you? I need help with Binn's essay on Hengist of Woodcroft's reasons for building Hogsmeade."

"I was in the library..."

"But me and Harry went down there and we didn't see you!"

"Well, you obviously didn't look hard enough." she said in her best exasperated tone. "So where's the essay?"

She spent the rest of the evening bantering Ron about how he should _really _take notes in History of Magic, while correcting his atrocious spelling. He took it all with relatively good grace ("But that's what I have _you _for Hermione!"). That was what Hermione liked about Ron: he took her slightly prickly personality in his stride. Sometimes she regretted not telling him about her run-ins with the Slytherins. But Hermione Granger wasn't one who spoke her about feelings out loud easily. Something about the idea scared her: her deepest and most innermost thoughts out in the air. She didn't want these thoughts to breathe, she half-wanted to suffocate them inside the maze of her mind.

After the essay of course, there was a few brief minutes of just staring into the fire and listening and laughing (Hermione) and talking and joking (Ron and Harry). After chortling about something or other Harry had just said, she got up, stretched, and said:

"I'm going to bed. There was some reading I wanted open to do before going to sleep."

"I suppose you can't get to sleep without a few pages of _Hogwarts, a History._" Harry teased, green eyes sparkling.

"Don't fall asleep with your wand ignited over the book again!" Ron chimed in. Hermione smiled.

"Don't worry, I won't." She said, giving Ron a peck on the lips.

Hermione dragged herself up the stairs to the Girl's Dormitory, reflecting on Ron. That morning and evening kiss of greeting and departure...what was it? A habit? It sent shivers down her spine every time, but was it the same for him? Whenever their lips touched, it always seemed that she was doing the kissing, and he coolly receiving. It was like -

"It's so obvious he isn't in love." Hermione stopped at the Dormitory door. She could hear Parvati Patail and Lavender Brown whispering inside.

"Love? It isn't even a crush!"

"I _know_...and there he is, going around with what's-her-name..."

"Do you think Hermione Granger knows what he's been doing behind her back?"

"That frizzy-headed know-it-all? I doubt it. Though if you ask _me _I think she had it coming to her."

"God, I don't even know why he hooked up with her in the first place. She isn't much to look at."

"Well, they are such great _friends_..."

Hermione couldn't stand it anymore. She coughed loudly, shuffled her feet noisily, and turned the handle. Parvati and Lavender were sitting on Parvati's bed, faces reflecting shock and slight embarrassment.

"Hey Parvati. Hey Lavender." Hermione said, smiling with florescent-lightbulb cheerfulness. "I decided to get an early sleep today…we have that quiz in Herbology tomorrow, and I want to be bright and fresh for it!"

In a few strides, she reached her bed. Flopping down among the pillows, she opened her bag next to her bed, took out _Wild Plants: Magical Herbs and Fungi with a Bite_, and pulled the curtains deftly around her, concealing her from Parvati's and Lavender's view. She flipped the pages until she reached the chapter on Venomous Tenteculas, and tried to concentrate on what to do when they were teething.

But in side her head questions were whirling, and they had nothing to do with Herbology. What did they mean "it's so obviouse he isn't in love"? It couldn't be Ron, right? And what was he doing behind her back? _They're just rumours. _She told herself. _Only rumours. _But a drop of water (_where had that come from?)_ fell down her cheek and hit the page, blurring the title. _She isn't much to look at...

* * *

_

**A/N: **The plot thickens...Thanks to all who R&R!

_abbi:_ I plan on making him relatively evil...because he is DRACO MALFOY after all. But don't worry, he won't be totally bad. Otherwise how can Hermione like him? I always think the whole he-brutally-beats-and-rapes-her-but-she-loves-him-anyway thing is a bit far-fetched.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the partial plot.


	6. Ignore

**Chapter 6 - Ignore**

Draco Malfoy sat in front of the Slytherin Common Room fire, staring at the flames forming figures. A woman crying, people dying, a single rose burst into flames...

"Are you alright?"

He looked up. Pansy Parkinson was gazing at him, her forehead wrinkled in concern. "Of course I am Pansy" he said easily.

"I heard that you had been given -"

"You heard correctly."

"Oh..."

She looked at him for a moment longer, he ignored her. She tried again, awkwardly.

"Well, if you ever need any help, just -"

"That won't be necessary."

Pause.

"Why did you do it Draco?" she cried out suddenly, passionately. "We all know that even if you manage to do this, you'll just have another mission, and another, and another, and you'll probably just end up in Azkaban anyway someday, no one can run forever -"

"I don't want to talk about it." He said, getting up abruptly.

"But-"

"I said..." Draco began, but Pansy cut him off by planting a kiss on his lips. Draco pushed her away, a look of utter disgust on his face.

"Do you think that _matters _anymore Pansy? A teenage crush?" He demanded.

She stood there silently, just looking at the floor.

"Draco..." she whispered.

"I said I _don't want to talk about it_." He said, his voice fierce, his eyes so dark that Pansy just stood stock-still as he thundered up the stairs to his Dormitory.

Pansy stood there for a long time, eyes glazed over, as she turned herself inside-out looking for the girl that he never would have shoved away.

* * *

**A/N:** I know, I know...it's uber short, but the next chapter is really important, and if I add this to it, it will only ruin the flow. 

Here's a little intro to my "Pansy" in case I didn't get it through in this chapter...

She is not a slut. Sure, she might think a physical relationship is important to have, and uses physical things as a 'solution' or 'escape' (as demonstrated when she kisses Draco), but she is not a slut. She and Draco have a history of dating (the "teenage crush"), but Draco considers this relationship over. She is half-hopeful that he might renew his affections, but subconsciously knows it's not going to happen. She considers Voldemort all-powerful and all-knowing, but is extremely afraid of him: Pansy is not someone who is naturally brave.

_Maibe Josie:_ Thanks for deciding to review!!!

_Junsui: "_Quidditch toned" is not a phrase I plan on using. I'm trying to keep the characters more-or-less in character, and not ONCE in the HP books does it clearly state: Draco Malfoy was a handsome, Slytherin Sex-God. And I love doing "less-than-beautiful" Hermione, because **life is more than looks alone**. Some people really need to get that through their heads. As for jerk Ron...I hate doing it, I really do, but this IS a Hermione/Draco fic, and Ron has to go (aren't I evil?). Hopefully he isn't too "just plain jerky", but more "Ron-ish jerky". (if this makes any sense...) Admittedly, I think Ron is more OOC than any of the other characters.

The above goes for everyone...I love stating my DMHG opinions in an overbearing way. XD. A million thanks to all those who R&R!

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the partial plot.


	7. Break

**Chapter 7 - Break**

Hermione Granger ran so fast, so far that morning that she almost missed breakfast. There was only enough time to grab a piece of toast before running to Potions.

That night, exhausted by that day's balancing act, she plopped next to Harry in the Great Hall.

"Where's Ron?" she asked distractedly, piling mashed potatoes on her plate.

"He said he had some flying he wanted to do." Harry muttered, determinately avoiding Hermione's gaze.

She was instantly on her guard, halting with her spoon over the dish of potatoes.

"Some flying?" Hermione asked, confused. "But it's dark, what's he doing on a broom-"

Then it hit her.

Everything clicked, and she got everything. The whole damn thing. _Looking up at him...doesn't she...smiling that smile...behind her back...some flying...isn't in love..._

She got up, her heart pounding, her spoon falling with a meaningless clatter on the floor. She drifted away, unseeing, unfeeling. A living spectre. Someone called to her from far away, an out-of-tune radio. _Hermione_. Can't hear you. Can't see you. Can't see anything, except...

Ron and Demelza. Lip-locked, the brightness of the doorway behind them. Bathed in golden dust. Kissing. Whispering.

And then the scene became real, all too real.

Demelza and Ron sprung apart, looking embarassed. Hermione opened her mouth to rant, and Ron whispered something in Demelza's ear. She nodded quickly, sea-green eyes wide. Hermione didn't move as Demelza walked by her, shoes clicking on the stone floors.

"I'm truly sorry." She told Hermione simply, gently, eyes full of understanding.

Rage seethed through Hermione, focused for once on someone outside of Slytherin. How _dare _the little slut go kissing _her _boyfriend and then apologize? How _dare _she? And the worst thing was that she seemed almost...sincere. Demelza Robins was perfectly decent, sweet, friendly. And Hermione hated her for it.

As soon as her footsteps faded in the distant, Hermione, the bottle of butterbeer shaken until it frothed in its sealed bottled, exploded in a wave of foam.

"HOW COULD YOU RON? HOW _COULD _YOU HAVE-"

"Hermione."

"_LIED _FOR ME ALL THOSE WEEKS? OF COURSE HERMIONE, I'M ONLY GOING-"

"Hermione."

"FOR A FLY! AND THEN I FIND YOU WITH _HER-"_

_"_Hermione, it's not going to work out."

"YOU COULD HAVE AT - what?"

"It's. Not. Going. To. Work. Out." He said slowly. "I'm really sorry. I should have told you long ago."

The silence was bearing down like a blanket stuffed, suffocating her, muffling her screams. _No. Not Ron. This isn't happening. Didn't mean..didn't want..._

"I'm really sorry Hermione." He said, the second apology she had received that day, the second apology she hadn't really wanted to hear. "But I like Demelza. A lot. And well…I like you too, but we're friends…" He looked at the floor, refusing to meet her eyes.

_They are such great __friends__… _

Typical, typical Ron. Sweet Ron. Gentle Ron. Just trying to make things better. Just trying to keep her heart from breaking. Looking at her with those endless copper eyes that-

_Belonged to someone else. _

And she was leaving this universe again, to that dazed smoky land where all the words were faint and unfocused but the colours bright and harsh. Ron was telling her something, but her eyes were blurring. _Need to run_.

"Ron, I understand perfectly." she cut in. _Is that really me? _"I know we're friends and I just hope…I just hope you and Demelza are happy." A blaring siren: _Liar Liar Liar Liar... _

Leave the room calmly, don't look back, don't miss a step…and burst into a flurry of feet thumping and ragged breathing and never ever stop until you reach a star where no one knows and even you don't know who you are.

_Heartbreak._

It burned, how it burned. A deep pain in her chest that turned her inside out and upside down and wrenched her heart into a million bleeding gasping pieces.

_Run_.

Night time. Drizzle. Lights fading from the castle. Go into the dark, don't care, Ron, oh _Ron_, Ron and Demelza, it's not going to work out, NO, don't think, don't care, don't feel, don't breath, just-

Run faster.

Salty-bitter tears, _why wasn't she flying? Why wouldn't the pain go away? _

Faster.

She was feeling dizzy. What was wrong?

_Just leave it all behind_.

Pain in her head.

Darkness.

* * *

That night, Draco couldn't sleep. 

After a few more minutes of trying in vain to fall asleep, he finally got up, pulled on his robes, and snuck out of the dormitory.

Outside the castle, a light, depressing rain was falling. The moonlight was week, clouds kept throwing shadows across the lawn. But he could still make out a lone figure, running fast, amazingly fast, speeding away from the castle into the shadows on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

_Granger._

But something was wrong. She was running far too fast, even faster than she had that misty morning a few days ago. Faster than should be possible without her hurting herself. Draco smirked. Little Miss Teacher's Pet Mudblood was speeding up too much for her own good, and it wasn't going to end nicely.

He watched her stumble, run a few more steps, and fall to the ground. He waited for her to pick herself up and resume skimming over the grounds like a large night butterfly.

But it didn't happen.

Draco Malfoy had a choice: he could be a perfect Knight-in-Shining-Armour and rescue Granger (as if), or he could just walk away, go back to bed. It wasn't _his _problem, wasn't _his _business. He smirked. There wasn't much of a choice _there_. It was as if, in the first year, the Sorting Hat had asked him where he would rather go: Slytherin or Gryffindor. The answer was obvious. Without a second glance at the motionless form lying on the ground, he turned back to the castle. And froze.

There, standing against the doorway, was the unmistakable silhouette of Argus Filch.

Not good. He'd been caught too many times out of bed past curfew to expect a drop of mercy from the ancient curator and his mangy cat.

Luckily, he hadn't been spotted yet. But Filch didn't leave, he merely stood, motionless, blocking out the golden light of the castle.

Draco's mind moved like the Slytherin he was, quickly mapping his options and weighing them to his advantage. Then, with amazing speed, the answer came to him. Another advantage to being a Slytherin. But as the idea surfaced, slowly becoming clearer and clearer, he wondered if he had become insane.

Rescue Granger.

It was simple, really. If someone caught him after hours with a lifeless Granger in his arms, nobly having saved her from some obscure danger (vaguely reminiscent of Potter…gag), the majority of the professors would immediately side with him against Filch. He winced. Sometimes he wished his strategic mind didn't work so well.

He glanced cautiously, half-hopefully, at Filch. He hadn't moved a muscle, and it didn't seem as if he would be doing so anytime soon.

Draco sighed and started creeping towards the spot where Granger's body lay still.

She was pale, deathly pale. Milky-white, almost blue in the pale moonlight. Her bushy hair stuck every which way, refusing to lie flat on the grass. An ethereal glow hung about her, probably a result of the cool silver rays and the droplets of rain (tears?) sprinkled on her face. There was blood at her temples, she must of hit her head on a rock when she came down. Her breath was ragged, her chest falling and rising shallowly.

Draco rolled his eyes. There was no way he was going to sit here staring at a filthy mudblood the whole night.

He was going to pick her up, but paused. Would she be slimy? Leave traces of dirt on his skin? She hadn't left a stain when she had slapped him many years ago (other than a red mark, but that was normal), but who knows, it could have been flux, a once-in-a-life time thing...

Finally, he cautiously reached out a hand and brushed her arm. No mould. No filth. In fact, it was perfectly smooth. Unnervingly like his own. If he hasn't known, he doubted he could had told the difference...

Would wonders never cease?

He quickly gathered her up in his arms and stepped towards the castle, where the lights still glimmered and glittered, leading him forward.

* * *

**A/N:** And finally, the part you've all been waiting for! This was so fun to write...I love it when the characters have strong emotions, because then it is more fun to use my trademark abstract descriptions. The only thing I HATED was making Ron go with Demelza, because the whole point of the Demelza chapter at the beginning was to show people that Hermione was excessively jealous. However, now that HE is out of the way, we can move on with HGDM.

By the way, if I wrote a Ron P.O.V, it would be something about how he hated to cheat behind Hermione's back, but how he genuinly feels for Demelza, and he's glad he can get the whole deception thing off his chest. And how he thinks Hermione never really liked him anyway, since they never had so much as a makeout session.

He is so clueless sometimes...

Thanks to all that R&R!

P.S. I'm so sorry to leave the end hanging like that...but not sorry enough to post the next part yet! evil laugh

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the partial plot.


	8. Shiver

**Chapter 8 - Shiver **

Draco Malfoy stepped into the castle, the limp figure of Hermione Granger in his arms. Filch was no where to be seen. It figured.

He looked down at the mudblood. Her face was pale, her expression one of despair, as if her dreams pained her. Around one eye, he could see a mottled, puffy purple bruise that he hadn't noticed before. Draco frowned, wondering what had happened. He would have to wring the information out of her later.

Now came the flawed part in his plan: what to do with Granger? Taking her to the Slytherin Common Room was laughable, and he had no idea where Gryffindor Tower was. Maybe the Hospital Wing...

And then, Hermione Granger woke up. She looked at Draco dreamily for a moment, as if she was still unconscious, and he merely an vision. Then, as the images sharpened, her dark eyes focused and widened with shock.

"Malfoy?" She asked, astonishment clear in her voice.

"And you're supposed to be the smartest witch of the year, Granger."

"What are you _doing_?"

A million possible answers rushed into his head. He chose the simplest. No sense in wasting words on a mudblood. "Rescuing you." He replied shortly, enjoying the effect the words seemed to have on her.

"Resc- you- what-" she spluttered. The words seemed to stick like one of Hagrid's rock cakes in her mouth, her brain still felt fuzzy. The equation Malfoy/Rescue didn't seem to process properly.

Finally, she gave up on making sense of the situation, and focused on a more palpable problem.

"Put me down this instant!"

For once, Draco Malfoy was glad to oblige. He wiped his hands on his robes for good measure while she sat on the floor, unwilling to get up. _So tired...why am I so tired? _Lights were bouncing in her mind, aqua and gold bubbles. Don't let them pop.

"Alright, calm down." She told herself, unaware that Draco was looking at her strangely. "Just...get to Gryffindor Tower." She got up shakily to her feet, took a step, and stumbled.

Malfoy caught her. "Are all Gryffindors this blatantly stupid? You can hardly walk!"

The shame of having an enemy see her this feeble made her headache increase. She began to retort hotly:

"Well, what do you propo-"

A wave of nausea hit her, and she keeled over. _What's wrong with me? What happened? Did I stay up too late studying? Did I eat something funny at- _and then she remembered. And she wished she had forgotten.

The night's events. Ron and- no, she couldn't bear to say it, couldn't bear to think it. Her feet felt sludgy, sliding through muds of sadness _Really really really want to run._ But her feet wouldn't move and her muscles wouldn't budge and the wave of grief caught up with her.

_Oh, no…_she thought dimly. _Not in front of Malfoy. _

Hermione Granger was trembling. She had pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, shaking like an aspen leaf. Her eyes were closed, her eyelashes wavering slightly, her eyelids almost translucent. This only happened when she was at the end of her emotional line: something she desperately didn't want Malfoy to see. Her control was slipping.

"Just leave me alone Ferret." she said faintly, in a last, half-hearted attempt to save some face.

Draco looked at Hermione for a moment, her large caramel eyes staring out from her paper-white face, her frizzy, electric hair looking too big for her face. She looked just like a child.

_Damn_.

It seemed good deeds clung to you and never let go.

And yet again, he could could hear that voice, floating out at him from beyond the doorway..._just like them...just like them…_

No.

He would to this once, just once, just to prove he wasn't _just like them_. Besides, it might help him with his mission…with some relief, the scheming part of his mind enveloped the faint, alien star born a moment before. He could use this to his advantage.

He bent over Granger, who had once again closed her eyes, her breaths long and shuddering. She suddenly snapped her lids open, and although a little shocked to see Malfoy still there, spoke with determination, the situation clear to her.

"Don't you _dare _Malfoy." She said, her teeth chattering.

"And who," he sneered, "is going to stop me?

He scooped her up. She felt like a delicate crystal bauble: the slightest pressure, and she would shatter. Her skin burned like an ember from the fire. Malfoy scowled. The filthy little mudblood had probably developed a fever.

The Hospital Wing was out of the question. Now that the danger of being caught by Filch was gone, he was less keen to be seen carrying Granger. Apart from wanting to keep his image up, he didn't like to think what _they _would do if he were caught.

There was an abandoned classroom nearby. That would work.

* * *

_"Lumos_" he muttered, and the scene was bathed in a golden light. 

No one had been here in ages. The few desks had been pushed against the walls, initials carved in the half-rotting wood: LE and JP. Cobwebs hung in the corners blanketed with dust, the two windows were cracked and speckled with dirt.

Draco put Hermione down on the floor. She immediately got on her hands and knees and, still trembling, backed up until she hit the wall, eyeing Malfoy like a feral cat.

"Granger, you are pathetic." Malfoy snapped. "I don't bite, especially mudbloods like yourself. I would have to use a whole tube of toothpaste to get my teeth clean again."

She didn't respond, just watched him carefully. There was a moment of silence, save the chattering of Hermione's teeth and her shaky breaths.

"Well, you're going to have to come here if you want me to fix your head."

This seemed to prick her pride. "I can do it myself, Malfoy." she said hoarsely.

"Sure." he sneered." Just like you did with the bruises on your face."

She muttered something under her breath, and he managed to catch a few words: _concealing...worn off._

"Where did you get them?"

Silence.

"They don't look too good...you should probably see Madam Pomfrey"

"Like you really care." She hissed. "and I won't go to the Hospital Wing. I'll be _fine_."

"Why won't you go? Scared your precious Potter and Weasley will find out? I really don't think you should be worried about that...the two dunderheads wouldn't notice even if you turned up bleeding. And isn't the redhead weasel your boyfriend?"

Hermione bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. She couldn't look at Malfoy as her pulse raced and her shaking increased. _Shut up,_ _oh _please _shut up..._

Malfoy sensed her nervousness and probed further, a snake ready to strike.

"Trouble in paradise?" he smirked. "Is Weaselby-"

And then she couldn't hold it back. She pressed the back of her hand against her mouth to muffle her cries, great, gasping sobs and tears that tasted all salty sweet bitter streaming down and shattering at her feet in a million pieces of her heart.

Dimly she felt someone heal her head and drape something around her (_Malfoy?_) but she didn't care anymore. In what could have been seconds or hours (_time has no meaning anymore_), her thoughts gave away into fitful sleep and half-dreams.

If Hermione Granger had been a pretty girl with wide blue eyes and silvery blonde hair, a pureblood, and a Slytherin, Draco might have wrapped his arms around her. As it was, he only took advantage of her unresponsiveness to heal the cut on her head with his wand (he would have to remind Granger about that later…he had finally found a spell he could do better than her), and, as an after thought, drape his cloak around her shoulders. It was a shame, really, he thought. He had _liked _that cloak, and now he would have to burn it.

He sat, a hair-span away from her yet not touching, against the wall. He put his wand out and stared into the darkness, trying to ignore the whimpers from the sleeping girl beside him, until he too drifted to sleep.

* * *

When Draco Malfoy woke up the next morning, his cloak was draped neatly on top of one of the desks. Hermione Granger was gone.

* * *

**A/N:** The clichéd-ness of this chapter is killing me. I mean, how many times have Hermione and Draco spent the night in a abandoned classroom? I couldn't get Draco right either...he is really quite unmanageable (Striped Candycane glares at Draco, who runs to hide behind J.K Rowling.) There is some good news though...after this chapter, we will hopefully lose the clichéd-ness of the story so far, and enter the realms of my twisted mind. Be afraid. Be very afraid. 

_pobrediabla: _I don't really plan on doing any Ron POV's. In fact, you could just skip all the character information I leave down here...it is only a little background stuff I put up for my personal amusement.

_RoadtoRuin: _Wow, the story's intoxicating? Have you been feeling any odd side effects? Strange and unexpected headaches? Lack of coordination? Bizarre pain in your left toe? Please tell me and I can put a warning at the bottom of the page. By the way, if it were up to me, I would do nothing but type fan fictions all day. Unfortunately, there is this little thing called Life that keeps getting in my way...

Thanks to all those who R&R!

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the partial plot.


	9. Haunt

**Chapter 9 – Haunt **

Hermione Granger had become a spectre. The only living ghost at Hogwarts.

She constantly avoided Ron, and, as a consequence of this, Harry. She couldn't stand watching Ron with Demelza: they both looked more in love than he had ever been with Hermione. At first, Ginny had been her companion, but soon Harry seemed to be every where around them. (Hermione suspected he felt something for the petite redhead, her sharp eyes had been picking up not-so-subtle clues all year.) And he always wanted to _talk _about things between her and Ron. Hermione didn't want to talk. Not now, not ever.

So the library became her hideaway. She would spend mornings, evenings, every spare moment drowning in her books, devouring the pages. Her grades became sky-high, her teachers were delighted. And she had never felt more miserable.

She ran so fast some days she thought her skin would peel away.

Sometimes she felt hollow, a hollowness that she couldn't run away from, that no amount of reading would supress. How do you leave an emptiness, a spot of nothing, behind? And when that happened, Phantom-Hermione drifted.

She didn't really _explore _the castle, she just wandered, feeling the minds and heartbeats and breathing of the Hogwarts students before her. How long had this ancient walls stood here? What had those blank eyeless faces seen? Laughter and Lights. Giggles and Games. Kisses and Caresses.

Horror and Heartbreak.

It was while she was drifting that she found the Other Library.

She had been skimming her fingers over all the tapestries, feeling the ancient threads and thick material. Then she hit a bump. Her curiosity was instantly aroused, a welcome and over-whelming feeling after the emptiness gnawing a hole in her soul. Quickly she ran to the edge of the wide stretch of cloth, and squeezed in the space between the tapestry and the wall, feeling like a child running through the curtains at her grandmother's house.

The bump turned out to be a doorknob. It was small, so tiny that unless you had been really running your hands over the tapestry and happened to hit it, like she had, you would have never known it was there. It was a copper-color, and speckled with rust.

Hermione, over come with curiosity, turned the knob. The door swung creakily open, and she peered inside.

It was a room, lit by torches that turned on as she stepped in. It was very small, only a few meter across. On the wall directly in front of her was a portrait of a woman with black hair tied up in a knot, fast asleep. Other than that, the space was empty. Feeling slightly disappointed, Hermione turned to leave.

"Going so fast?"

She spun around. The portrait had woken up, and was watching her with cold black eyes, her face slightly weathered and lightly lined.

"Yes." She said curtly, and started to exit again.

"My, aren't we rude." The woman said in a raspy voice. "I can tell you lot's of things about yourself, you know."

"Like what?" Hermione said challengingly, crossing her arms.

"Like the fact that you always get good grades. Outstanding on your last Arithmacy test, eh? Not bad. And you always sit on the west corner of the Library. And your favourite desert is pecan pie."

"That doesn't prove anything." Hermione said dismissively. "You've just gotten around to talking with the other portraits."

"Sharp one, aren't you?"

"That's what most of them say. How did you find out about the pecan pie, incidentally?"

"The portrait of the fat bald chef in the Great Hall." The woman said hoarsely "Last Halloween. He says he's never seen a student tuck into the pecan pie with such gusto as you did."

"I'm flattered."

There was a silence.

"People are so insensitive sometimes. They just don't understand, do they?" the portrait said conversationally.

"Understand what?"

"_You _know. I'm not fooled by your I-don't-know-what-this-crazy-painting is talking about act. "

"Well I DON'T know." said Hermione shortly, her temper catching at the truth in the woman's words. "And if you excuse me, I have better things to do than to sit around all day talking to a _portrait_." She turned around to make a trademark dignified exit.

"Arrogant little brat…" she heard the portrait mutter. "I know girls like _that _one, they think they know it all, they do. Bet she doesn't even know who Miriam Eastaway is. "

This, in Hermione's opinion, was below the belt.

"I _know_ who Miriam Eastaway is!" she said, forgetting to leave in her indignation.

"Do not!"

"Do too!"

"Prove it to me then." the woman said, her dark painted eyes glittering.

"Miriam Eastaway is only one of the BEST WIZARDING AUTHOR OF ALL TIME! I mean, she wrote _An Enemy's Shadow._"

"_That _piece of crap?" The portrait snorted. "One of her worst works in my opinion."

"How can you say that? The way she portrays Rebecca's struggles to overcome her loneliness is amazing!"

"Yes, but what about that Goldman character? Absolutely horrible. I cannot _believe _she falls for him in the end."

"Oh come on, he was _misunderstood -_"

And before she knew it, Hermione was caught in a whirlwind of what she (predictably) liked best: discussing literature. She was so intensely into the conversation that it gave her a jolt when the portrait suddenly fell silent, gazing at her shrewdly, and said decisively:

"I'm going to let you in."

"Let me in where?" asked Hermione confusedly.

"The Library."

"But I've been in there a million-"

"No _no_," said the portrait, waving her hands as if to brush the Library off the map. "the Other Library."

And before Hermione could act like a predictable heroine and ask the portrait what she meant, the painting swung open to reveal another room.

Hermione stepped in slower than she had the room before, because this one was dimly lit, and because of the way it _felt_. Just like the castle walls, only these didn't simply see, they felt _knowing. _If these walls could speak, Hermione felt they could explain all the mysteries of the world.

The room was filled with books.

This in itself wasn't very surprising: it was the Other _Library_ after all. What _was _surprising was the number of books crammed into the relatively small space: bookshelves rose to the ceiling along all the walls and books were stacked and scattered on the floor in no particular order. Splat in the middle of the room was a large red rug, and every here and there, there were boxes filled with papers.

Hermione picked up the book closest to her and read the title: _Blood as Clear as Water. _The author's name was so worn it was illegible, and when she carefullyopened it, the scent of old pages wafted out at her. Still holding the book open, she walked over to the rug sat on it, and began to read. Soon she was totally immersed, and for the first time in days, Hermione Granger was perfectly happy.

* * *

So she spent her days devouring the Other Library in the evenings, suffering from loneliness and having to see Ron kiss Demelza during the days. She lived a half-existence, a room full of books consisted of one half, and the other half was a nothing-half, a half of crying at night and trying to smile in the mornings. 

The incident between her and Malfoy had been half-forgotten. It had been night, she had been half-ill with sadness, and the memory had wet and blurry edges. It was easy to believe it had all been a dream. Malfoy, for his part, didn't bother to seek her out, and neither did she. Why would she? He had acted like an asshole for the most part anyway.

* * *

Draco Malfoy, on the other hand, was having trouble forgetting. 

He made up for the fact that he had been vaguely nice to a Mudblood by bullying as many first years as possible. The smaller ones cowered when he walked in the halls, and for those in Gryfindor, life was pure hell. But he still felt the blight on his consciousness, the idea that he had rescued an inferior with little or no advantage to him was unacceptable. He must redeem himself.

So when Blaise Zambni asked him if he would like to participate in a group-bullying with Marcus Flint, Crabbe, and Goyle, Draco gladly accepted.

* * *

**A/N:** For all of those who are wondering where the Portrait came from, I have really no idea. I just wanted to give Hermione her own little place, and I wanted to make it hard for most people to get in, without making Hermione some sort of Ravenclaw princess that can only get into the room because she nobly shares her blood with the founders. And then the Portrait jumped in, and for some reason she wanted to talk a lot. So I let her.

By the way, I made up all the book and author names.

Thanks to all those who R&R!

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the partial plot.


	10. Curse

**Chapter 10 - Curse **

Her life was like a CD player sometimes. A video that played again and again, a Pensieve she wanted to hide away, but kept turning up when she least expected it.

Hermione was walking through the halls, briskly, because she wanted to get to the Other Library as soon as possible. She had been studying outside, but then Ron and Demelza had been there, riding a broom together over the grounds, they're laughter carrying on the wind to where Hermione sat. Reminding her how she had never wanted to go up on a broom with Ron, because she was afraid of heights. Making her want to get away to a place where reality was made of paper that crackled and crinkled beneath her fingers. Where the world could be closed with her hands.

She was rounding a corner when somebody grabbed her roughly by the arm, wrestled her wand away from her, and pulled her into an empty classroom.

She didn't scream.

She didn't try to get a better look at her captor.

She knew who they were. She knew what would happen.

_They came for her every time, every time her bruises had almost healed… _

Frantically, her fingers scrabbled for flesh, digging her nails into every inch of skin she could reach.

_"Bitch" _she heard someone gasp, and she was thrown against a wall.

_Had this happened before? Was this happening now? Would it happen again? It was her past, her present, her future…all blended into one. She was living them all. _

And they were in front of her, an impenetrable line. Blaise Zambini, Marcus Flint, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle…

Draco Malfoy?

So he _was_ just a Slytherin. It didn't matter. She hadn't thought anything more of him. Once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin...nothing, not even one single drizzly night where he had healed the cut on her head, could change that.

Draco Malfoy looked at Hermione Granger. Now he knew where she got the bruises. She was standing tall, looking each of them in the eyes, her mouth set firmly in a small frown. Her muscles were tensed, like a cat ready to spring. Golden-brown cat eyes fierce.

Good. Now he had a chance to redeem himself.

So he started.

"Walking alone in the corridors, Mudblood? Where's the Weasel? Oops, I forgot, he dumped you, didn't he?"

She didn't move. She didn't flush. She didn't blanch. There was really no evidence that she had felt anything at all, save her hands clenched and trembling ever-so-slightly at her sides.

_Just think of the Other Library. The millions of books ready to be read. It will all be over soon, Hermione, and then you can lock yourself up in there and never come out…_

"Did he finally decide your lips were too slimy? Was he sick of tasting mud every time you kissed him?" he sneered.

"Yes, I'm a muggleborn." She said, chin high. "But at least I'm not the one who goes around beating up people for fun. Of course, you always do it in packs. You're all too cowardly to fight me one-on-one."

"Really?" said Malfoy, his eyes glittering. The rest of the Slytherins stood silent, waiting for his cue. "Blaise, give her her wand."

"But Draco-" he protested.

"Just do it." Malfoy said, an odd look on his face.

Blaise walked over to Hermione and reluctantly handed her her wand, making sure to glare at her. Hermione was too shocked to do anything but clutch at her wand. _He can't just let me go…I don't want his pity, I don't want to fall that low…_

"Granger, you are going to duel with..." his eyes roamed around his companions "...Marcus Flint. If he disarms you, you will fight with him wandless." Flint showed his teeth in a strange sort of wolf-grin, and Hermione felt her stomach tighten. She had to make sure she knocked him out with magic, while he just had to get the wand out of her hands. And every one knew what the result would be if the duel was wandless: Flint's strength was superior to her own. But at the same time she was half-stunned, her mind was set on her mission. Malfoy had given her a chance, a chance to end this, a chance to get even. And she was going to take this chance, no matter what the side consequences would be.

Flint was standing in front of her wand raised...she only had a split second to act...she quickly yelled the first spell that came into her head:

_"Tarantallegra!" _

And she could hear Flint too, the background to her own voice, unfocused and untuned.

_"Crucio!" _

She saw the spell coming towards her, wondered for an instant: _why didn't he just try to disarm me?_ But then her body was in flames, eaten alive, an indescribable pain, so intense that she couldn't stay standing and was kneeling on the cold stone floor and biting her lips so they wouldn't scream the scream that was swelling in her chest...

And then it was over, and she got shakily to her feet. Flint was doing a strange sort of dance, his feet jerking randomly. Something that should have been funny, but was only macabre after the pain she had felt only moments before.

He had used an Unforgivable on her. Rage coursed through her veins, wanted to be released. The spell rose to her lips before she could stop it:

"_Sectumse-"_

She managed to bite back the rest, but the partial spell still floated out of the tip of her wand, she reached out to try to stop it, but it simply slipped through, cutting her fingers...and hit Flint on the arm.

He didn't faint, just bent over as if in a trance, gazing at the blood on his arm.

The room fell dead silent.

A very small part of Hermione felt horrified at what she had done. But the rest of her was triumphant, on top of the world, her frizzy hair crackling with electricity, her wand outstretched, small drops of blood dripping from her fingers. She revelled in the terror she saw reflected in the Slytherin's faces. For a nanosecond of her life, she knew the meaning of true power, the power to hurt, to harm, to inspire fear…

Then all of a sudden she felt sick, nauseous. She had tried to attack someone with a spell that could have killed them.

_But he had crucio-ed you. An Unforgivable Curse. You had no choice, Hermione. Because no one would have saved you, even if he had tortured you to insanity…_she shuddered.

Now Malfoy broke through the silence, taking command.

"Everyone out. Take Flint to the Hospital Wing." He looked over at Granger, who was staring at Flint in horror. "I'll take care of Granger."

* * *

**A/N:**A small cliff-hanger there...I have absolutely no idea if half-spells exist, but in this case, since Hermione's spell was half-pronounced, it only hit Marcus Flint with minor injuries (what a pity...). A million thanks to all those who R&R! 

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the partial plot.


	11. Think

**Chapter 11 - Think **

They stood there in silence for a moment, looking at each other. Hermione's wand was raised, trembling slightly, all the fire that had been in her eyes a moment ago extinguished. Draco Malfoy gazed at her calculatingly before speaking.

"You can put your wand down, Granger. I'm not going to waste my breath cursing you."

Hermione looked at him suspiciously before lowering her wand. There was an awkward silence, until Malfoy broke it.

"We better get this straight. You tell about how Marcus Flint used an unforgivable curse on you, and I'll tell how you tried to use _Sectumsempra _on him. Got it?"

_Got it?_ He had used an _Unforgivable _on her, and she had tried to _defend _herself, so she would be punished? If Draco Malfoy thought that she would just agree to his twisted logic, he had another thing coming.

"Are you _insane_?" she hissed. "He used an _Unforgivable _on me. He could go to Azkaban for that."

"And you used _Sectumsempra _on him." Malfoy drawled. "You could have used something like Petrificus Totalus: efficiently immobilizing him. You didn't have to attack him. Sure, he could go to Azkaban…but you would also be expelled. Don't act like you don't know it, Granger."

She felt like she had plunged into the Lake in winter. He was right. Damn him, he was right. She might not get expelled, but at the very least she would get a series of detentions, a black stain on her snow-white record. Her mind entered school-mode, an overload of N.E.W.T.S and studying and a fear of failing.

She bit at her cuticles nervously. _I really really really want to run…_

What was the point of fighting? She was always trying to hide the bruises, hide the scars. This was perfect. It was goddamn perfect, no one would ever have to know. Harry and Ron would never have to find out.

"Fine." She snapped.

Malfoy didn't wait for her to elaborate. He simply turned on his heels and started to leave. When he reached the door, he paused at the doorknob, turned around, looked at the floor.

"I didn't mean for that to happen."

And then he was gone.

Hermione waited until his footsteps had fully faded before sprinting to the Other Library.

* * *

Her feet rose and fell in a strange sort of rhythm, clipped syllables in tune to her thoughts: _Cru-ci-o, Sec-tum-sem-pra, di-dn't mean for that to hap-pen. _

What was he talking about?

Her muscles ached from the Cruciatus Curse. This didn't matter, the pain would fade eventually. The pain always did. No, it was those _thoughts_. They were like worms oozing in her mind, trailing unwanted residue. Why wouldn't they just turn into moths and flit away? And she was so angry. She felt like punching something, kicking something, flattening the world. Because Hermione Granger wanted _justice_. And she had just been proved, as she had with the house-elves, that justice was something everyone said was readily available, everyone said that they practiced. But in reality, the world was made of spiders weaving shadows that hid the injustice. Cobwebs that were nearly impossible to sweep away.

She reached the portrait panting. It hadn't been a long way, really, but her troublesome thoughts kept weighing her down.

The portrait was half-open just for her, and as she rushed inside without speaking to the oil-paint woman. ("What's the rush? Is something wrong?") Furiously, she grabbed a random book from the shelf, and threw herself on the rug to read. The letters all felt sharp in her mind, reflecting her rage. They turned into flames before her eyes.

Finally, she called back an answer to the portrait's question, summing up her feelings in one simple phrase:

"I _hate _Draco Malfoy."

It wasn't until she was almost through the first chapter that she realised what Malfoy had done for her.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was being introduced to the world of thoughts that wouldn't leave him alone. 

In the past, he had never really had to think. His thoughts had been laid out for him since the day he was born, all he had to do was step into them. But his actions had been stepping out of this tailor-made suit lately, and his thoughts had been creeping along accordingly. This wasn't like the strange passive wanting to be _different _(but knowing he never would). These thoughts jerked him out of the trance he had been living, an uneven sequence to the pattern of his mind.

First of all was what he had done. He had given Granger a wand, given her a chance to duel as if she was an equal. He had given her a chance for revenge. _Mudbloods don't deserve chances. Never._ He told himself firmly.

Then he had felt nauseous when Marcus Flint had tortured her. He had done his best not to put his hands over his ears to blot out her silence, which was more sickening than if she had screamed. At least a scream filled up the emptiness, drowned out the sound of her body thumping as it jerked on the floor.

And then, like the cherry on topped of the sundae of pureblood treachery, he had told her. He had told her that he hadn't meant for that to happen. Maybe she hadn't gotten it then, but she would soon. And then he would have appeared weak. The Malfoy code of honour torn to pieces with one simple sentence.

He would have to complete his mission. He would have to quit procrastinating like a lazy third year and _get his scheming mind to work_.

* * *

A/N: A long wait for this chapter, with little reward. **I AM SO SORRY!!!!** I could trot out excuses, but it would probably bore you all to death. In any case, the next chapter will have more action, less ramblings, come out faster, and be a bit longer...hopefully. The only thing I know for sure is that it WON'T be out tomorrow, because it is my little sister's birthday. Happy birthday to her...

Thanks to all those who R&R!

_abbi: _You review almost **every single chapter** (if not all). Bravo! I would actually send you a cookie (non virtual) but I have no idea where you are in the world, so that means you'll have to pick it up in France. And since that would be way to much trouble...you'll have to make do with a virtual one :)

_RoadtoRuin: _I couldn't agree more. Unfortunately, the characters INSIST on taking the story into their own hands...

And others: _rawr dinosaurs, neonnoodlesoup, Kae-Lae, Marionette, womp lover, RecklessAlbion _(and everyone who reviewed for all chapters below 10).

P.S. If you get really really bored, and there are NO stories left on this site (unlikely), you can always check out my two one-shots. If you haven't already.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the partial plot.


	12. Remember

**Chapter 12 - Remember**

The sky had was slightly overcast that day, shedding a depressing sort of neutral light without the wild affect of rain. None of the students attending classes stared out the window wistfully: instead, they dreamed of stretching out in front of warm Common Room fires.

Therefore, when Draco decided to skip Divination and spend it by the lake, he was completely alone.

It was somewhat windy, little ripples wrinkled the lake's surface like skin on heated milk. There was a slight chill in the air: it wasn't cold enough to bother him, but just enough so that his mind felt fresh and sharp. Just enough to make him feel like a Slytherin.

Suddenly he felt something. The atmosphere _shifted_. The air stilled. Not a tree rustled, not a breath of wind blew, the lake had gone as smooth as glass. It became cold, a chill that set into the core of his bones. He looked across the lake.

There, standing darkly against the greyness, was a dementor.

And in that instant, he remembered things, horrible things…

_Voices. Loud. A high-pitched scream…  
"What happened mommy?"_

_His breathing was cut off. A sharp pain burned in his lungs, he couldn't reach the top. He couldn't reach the light. And the water was cold and his skin was cold and the voice was cold.  
"Swim, Draco."_

_Masked faces, a solemn circle. Heart beating, cloaked figure advancing, words hissing.  
"Say yes…"_

He was still standing, trying to grasp his wand, trying to think of something to fight off the cloaked creature of darkness before him. But his mind was swirling with insuperable memories and it was advancing slowly, soon it would close putrid hands around his wrists and suck out his last glimmer of hope…

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a silvery something roughly the size of a large cat rush at the dementor. To his surprise, rather than be enveloped by the aura of darkness, whatever it was seemed to grow brighter. A brightness so intense that the dementor backed up and glided away, leaving a bitter trail of defeat and a lingering sense of sadness.

The silvery mass came to him an encircled his feet without touching them, and Draco finally saw it for what it was: a milky otter. It passed by him, and headed towards a figure standing about twenty feet away.

Hermione Granger.

She was breathing heavily, as if she had been running. She grasped her wand tightly, a half-fierce, half-grave look on her face as she watched the dementor retreat. The silver otter came to a stop at her feet and for a second they looked at each other, girl and otter. Then the creature started to dissolve until it was no more than a mist that drifted away…

_A Patronus. _Draco realised. It was a nice piece of magic, he thought grudgingly. They weren't taught Patronuses at Hogwarts: it was a spell primarily reserved for those rare students who continued their magic studies beyond the 7th year.

There was an awkward silence.

"Shouldn't you be in class, Granger?"

She merely shrugged her shoulders.

Another pause.

"Well...I guess we're even now." Hermione said, sticking out her hand.

Malfoy looked at it as if it were a rather large and hairy spider.

"You shake it, Malfoy." She snapped exasperatedly.

"Forget it." He sneered. "I'm not touching a filthy little Mudblood." He turned away from her to stare at the lake.

_Oooo, he did NOT just call me a Mudblood_. Hermione's temper began to simmer, heat building up until it reached boiling point.

"Do you know what I _did _to get here, Malfoy? I LIED to McGonagall. I told her I was feeling ill and needed to go to the Hospital Wing. I BETRAYED HER TRUST just because I had this strange sort of premonition, just so I could COME UP HERE AND SAVE YOUR UNGRATEFUL ASS! And I am NOT filthy. Don't you DARE ever call me filthy Malfoy. Because you are vile. You are disgusting. I should have LET that dementor feed on your soul. It would have starved to death, because you have no heart. "

"Ooo, that really cut me. I really should apologize for hurting your _feelings_. How's this: 'I'll try not to run into anymore dementors and _force _you to rescue me after you have some strange sort of vision...' Should I give you a hug or something?"

"You could...You could...YOU COULD APOLOGIZE FOR MAKING ME MISS A VERY IMPORTANT TRANSFIGURATION LESSON!" She sputtered. Indignantly, she turned around and started marching towards the castle.

"Wait!" she heard a voice behind her. "Canyouteachmehowtodoapatronus?"

She swerved around, grinning. "Sorry, I didn't seem to catch that…"

Malfoy looked murderous.

"…but now that I think about it, I understand quite well." She said hurriedly.

The silence was pregnant now, as if each were communicating without words. Each was unwilling to be seen with the other, even if for something as mundane as a Patronus lesson.

"The room of Requirement on Tuesday night then?" Hermione ventured. Malfoy nodded in relief.

"Granger, if you _dare_ tell anything about what happened here - "

"Yes, yes, you'll curse me into oblivion." She said boredly. "I won't tell." And without a further remark, she turned on her heels and made her way back to Hogwarts.

Draco stood there for a moment, watching the ripples reform on the lake. He looked at the spot where the dementor had stood. Didn't take a genius to figure who had sent it. It had been a warning. Because his time was running short, dripping like sand through an hourglass...

* * *

**A/N:** I personally liked that. I was tired of making Hermione Miss Damsel-in-Distress, so this was her turn to go out and DO something.

_neonnoodlesoup:_ It's so nice to be appreciated, and this really made me smile. It makes my morning to find in my mailbox the alert telling me there is a new review!

P.S. I am trying to think up a new title, since I feel this one doesn't go with the story as well as it used to. I'm open to any suggestions!

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the partial plot.


	13. Spin

**Chapter 13 - Spin **

Hermione Granger squeezed her eyes shut and began to twirl.

It was a sort of game she often played in the Other Library: closing her eyes and spinning, then seeing what book her outstretched finger was pointing to. She had long since given up choosing a book in the Other Library by sight.

She stopped turning and stood still, waiting for her head to stop spinning.

She opened her eyes.

The book her finger indicated was probably one of the least noticeable in the room: a plain brown cover stained with coffee, the pages yellowed and peeling out of the bindings. Hermione opened it gingerly to a random page. It wasn't printed, but instead written in scrawling, slightly messy but still readable script. There was no date or time, but it was quite clearly a diary.

_It is very strange that there should be an arch in the middle of London. All the wizards in the vicinity are very casual about it: they say it has been there for as long as they can remember. As for the muggles, they don't notice it at all. It doesn't surprise me. Even as a child, before I knew what I was, I always felt that the people around me could never see past the end of their noses. _

_There is also a sort of curtain, hanging from the arch. It is ripped and torn and weathered, of a black colour like a widow's mourning dress. It flutters in the wind. _

_I can walk around it and, if I so choose, put my hand through one of the larger holes. But I do not. Mostly because I do not want to damage the ancient fabric, but I also do not want to make a spectacle of myself. People would stare at a woman in a bright red dress fingering what most consider an odd monument. For the muggles, it would be worse: my fingers would be groping the empty air. _

_When I tell Marta about this, she smiles in her typically dark way and says: "Curiosity killed the cat." _

_And satisfaction brought it back, didn't it? _

Hermione frowned. Something about the arch seemed strangely familiar to her. Idly, she flipped to the first page. There were only six words, printed neatly in the middle of the page.

_This book belongs to Miranda Fairfield. _

It was a simple name. Yet somehow it stuck to Hermione's brain as if it had a Permanent Sticking charm placed upon it. The name of a girl, she was certain, now dead. A name centuries old.

She left the Other Library in a pensive mood, unaware of the shrewd looks the portrait was giving her.

* * *

"You need to _concentrate_!" 

"In case you haven't noticed, Granger, it is kind of hard to concentrate when there is a bushy-haired Mudblood watching you intensely! How can that _possibly _bring forth happy memories?"

"For the love of -"

For the millionth time that night, Hermione wished she hadn't agreed to teach Malfoy how to do a Patronus. As she turned to the wall for the benefit of his _concentration_, she imagined all the not-so-subtle ways she could kill him. Throw him off the Astronomy Tower and say the stress of being a Death Eater's son had been too much for him. Impale him with a fork and say she slipped. Feed him to the Giant Squid and say he had been provoking it.

The Room of Requirement, sensing her intentions, helpfully produced a knife. She rolled her eyes and ignored it.

_"Expecto Patronum!" _Hermione turned around to see Malfoy, a look of intense focus on his face, his wand outstretched…and not even a hint of silver emanating from it.

"You need to really _feel the happiness!" _She said, having exhausted all other possible ways to get "cheerful memories" imprinted into Malfoy's head.

"Oh hooray, this has become a Dumbledore follower's seminar…let us all love and be happy with pink rabbits and rainbows and unicorns!"

"You forgot the little white ferrets…" said Hermione, grinning slyly.

"Why won't everyone shut _up _about that? It was _years _ago!"

"I know...but it was so hilarious! It really helps me summon a Patronus…such a happy memory."

"If I killed you right here, right now, I would be able to produce the best Patronus the world has ever seen, Granger." muttered Draco darkly.

"Trust me, the feeling is mutual, Malfoy. Now why don't we go _back to work_?"

It was, to make a long story short, a failure. Malfoy managed, at best, to produce a weak sort of whisp of something that resembled a puddle of milk more than anything else. The Room of Requirement had been piling up books on how to produce a Patronus for the last half hour with increasing desperation.

"Are you really such a miserable person, Malfoy, that there is not even a hint of happiness in your memories?"

"Sorry, but the disgust of having to breathe the same air as you kind of evaporates all the good thoughts." He smirked.

"Let me remind you that it was _you _who wanted me to teach you!"

Unfortunately, she had a point there.

"Then I won't stay a moment longer." He sneered.

"Fine!" she yelled, trying to edge him on. _Please please please leave…_

"Fine!" He walked over to the door, turned the handle, and stepped outside. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. Then he stuck his head back in.

"Next week, same time, same place, ok Granger?"

_Kill me now. _

_

* * *

_

She was walking back to Gryffindor Tower when she heard someone call after her.

"Hermione! HERMIONE!"

She turned around.

Ron Weasley.

She didn't stop to think. In a split second, her instincts had taken over and she was running.

_Don't want to talk to him. Don't want to see him. Might breakdown. Is he running after me? I hope not. I wish he would. Out-of-order bathroom ahead_.

She ran in, frantically dived into a stall, and shut the door behind her. She sat on the ice-cold toilet seat, heart fluttering frantically like a butterfly trying to escape from a jar. As her breathing steadied, she leaned her forehead against the smooth white walls of the stall. Closed her eyes. Breathe. In and out. In and out.

Presently, she got out her copy of _Defence Against the Dark Arts: Grade Seven. _She opened it and laid it on her knees. Her eyes and brain entered study-mode easily as she immersed herself in the text. The Gryffindor Common room was not an option tonight. Ron might look for her there.

The minutes ticked by as she studied, surrounded by four walls, waiting until it was safe to go outside.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks to all those who R&R! 

_Marionette_: I love it when people comment on my metaphors, and lately I have been feeling that they are slightly rusty, so thanks! By the way, I hope that your future days are better :)

_Maibe Josie:_ Thank you for all the really thought-provoking reviews...I'm glad I finally got Malfoy right! (I have a feeling that in this chapter he is completely OOC again...sigh)

_Hidden Relevance:_ YES! Someone who comments on obsessive compulsive Hermione! Thanks for reviewing!

And others: _abbi _(yet again...you rock!), _womp lover, Corvus Caminus, neonnoodlesoup, _and _scrivania_.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the partial plot.


	14. Stand

**Chapter 14 - Stand**

Hermione woke that morning to a field of white and a cramp in her leg. For a brief moment, she wondered where she was. Then she realised she had fallen asleep on the toilet, her head resting on _Defence Against the Dark Arts: Grade Seven. _It would have been almost funny if she hadn't felt so drained.

She got up and unlatched the door of the cubical, walking with a slight limp because of her cramp. It didn't matter. She knew from experience that if she kept of going, the pain would fade eventually.

Her feet crossed the stone floors in a few strides, carrying her over to a cracked sink. She tried to turn the hot tap, but it wouldn't budge, so she turned the cold one. It stuck a little but then flowed freely through her fingers, the water like melted ice. Making her skin tingle as she splashed it on her face.

She raised her eyes to look at herself in the speckled mirror. What a mess. Her hair was frizzing , and she had dark lines under her eyes like bruises. At least her face was clean. It shone bright and slightly pink, the cold water had revived her.

With a sight she straightened her robes, ran one hand over her head in an effort to arrange her unruly hair, and picked up her book bag. If she hurried to breakfast, everyone would simply think she had gone to bed late, and gotten up at the crack of dawn before anyone was awake.

* * *

"Where we're you last night, Draco?" 

A cool question, thrown to him easily from across the table. Pansy watched him carefully, waiting to see how he reacted.

_Having a tutoring class with Hermione Granger, Pansy dear. I'm sure I must have mentioned it. Did I also tell you I'm doing it again in a few days? No? How forgetful of me…_

"Out." He said, taking an extra big bite of toast. She was going to ask him more, and this gave him the opportunity to think while he chewed.

"Out where?"

He swallowed slowly. "The Owlery. I was working out a few chinks in the Plan." Draco hoped she couldn't tell he was lying. Probably not. He was a good liar, and Pansy wasn't particularly perceptive person.

"So what is it?" Rather blunt for Pansy, she must be getting desperate for answers.

"Not allowed to talk about it. Dark Lord's request." He invented. Really, even she should know better to talk about such things where anyone could hear.

"Hmmm" she said, narrowing her eyes slightly. That could mean anything.

"Did you hear about Blaise? He got detention for talking back to McGonagall in Transfiguration…" He said, trying to change the subject.

She didn't fall for it.

"Marcus Flint told me you stopped him from beating up that Granger a week or so ago."

Crap.

"Do you know what he did?" Draco asked, lowering his voice to an urgent whisper. "He put a _Cruciatus_ on her!"

"So? She's an annoying little smart ass. A Mudblood. She deserved it."

"I know, I know...but what if the bitch talked? I had to stop Marcus from making things worse." He leaned back in his chair, adopting a cool and carefree air. "Don't worry, I made sure she won't be telling anyone anytime soon." he smirked.

"Alright...I was just making sure their wasn't anything between you guys..."

When Draco laughed, it was in genuine astonishment. "Me and Granger? Me and a Gryffindor? Me and a _Mudblood_? You must be insane."

* * *

Hermione Granger ran her fingers beneath the words as she read. At first, she had been rather reluctant to take the diary out of the Other Library, but she had wanted something to read, and the portrait hadn't seemed to object. She would take it back after breakfast, she told herself firmly. It should be something that stayed in the unique, hushed atmosphere of the Other Library. 

_Morning inspections are something like this:_

_We all stand in a row next to our neatly-made beds. Fourteen girls of various ages, unflattering dresses in every sober solid colour possible. We are society's ashes: wizards scorn us for being muggleborn, and muggles avoid us because they think we are penniless orphans. _

_I'm not an orphan. My parents are out there, somewhere, but they don't remember I exist. And I'm not allowed to see them anymore. It's one of the conditions I agreed to before coming here. _

_I feel out of place. My dress is bright red, the only splash of colour, yet I spring up like a gangly weed above all the daisies. I am at least a head taller than the rest. They glance at me from the corner of their eyes, and I can read their thoughts through heads of glass: _why is she still here?

_A girl to my left in dark blue, about thirteen years old, is scolded for having dirt on her chin. She is relatively new. I never bothered to find out her name. _

_When the matron reaches me, she tells me that Miss Griffith wants to see me. I am instantly dismissed. _

_I know the path to the study well. I have walked these halls many times during my stay here, at first confused, then hopeful, then desperate. I have been desperate for a year now. Today, however, I am not desperate. I am daring. I dare to think I might be leaving this place. I dare to think I might escape._

_Miss Griffith had steel-grey eyes and a pursed mouth. Every time I see her, I think about the "Miss" that forever sullies her name. She should be married. But she is no longer a blushing rose of youth, and is stuck here permanently. There is no escape for her. She will slave away for the rest of her days, trying to teach society's worthless girls the rudiments of magic. I think she knows this. That's why her mouth is always pursed: she is forever tasting the bitter flavour of defeat. _

_Her voice is flat and toneless as she tells me about Hogwarts._ What a queer name_. The first thought that runs through my mind is absurd, horribly commonplace after all these years. But it doesn't matter. Because the waiting is over. _

_I learn very little about the establishment. It is large. There are many students and various professors. There is a lake. More importantly, they will take muggleborns. That is rare. And it is what I have been waiting for. _

_How many owls had I sent? Too many too count. Enough to make a good size novel. Occasionally, I would receive one back, but they were always short an to the point. _We cannot take you…under the circumstances...highly regrettable…_the excuses flow in rivers. But there is always the meaning between the lines, perfectly clear. They don't want to take me because I'm not a pureblood. Not even a half-blood._

_It makes me wonder what kind of school Hogwarts is, why they would take a witch like me. _

Her reading was interrupted as Ron and Demelza fell into the seat next to her, fully engrossed in a game of tonsil hockey.

She rolled her eyes in annoyance. It was hard to concentrate on anything when your ex-boyfriend (which you didn't feel like breaking up with in the first place) is sticking his tongue down the throat of the girl who had replaced you. She closed the diary with a snap and pushed back her chair noisily. They took no notice.

Time to find somewhere else to read.

She left the Great Hall, slightly hurt that Ron hadn't seen her, when he had been so keen to speak to her the night before.

_That'll teach me. _She thought fiercely. _That'll teach me to keep on hoping..._

* * *

"For Merlin's sake, you're waving your wand right, the pronunciation is perfect, but your memories simply aren't happy enough!" Hermione cried out in frustration. 

"Well, Miss The-World-Is-All-Sunshine, what do _you_ think of? When you managed to transform a match into a perfect needle before any one else in the first year? Anything can make a _mudblood_ happy. But Malfoys," he gave a small smirk, "have more refined tastes."

She rolled her eyes "Yes...thinking of Parkinson naked is _extremely_ refined."

"I'm not thinking of Pansy naked!" He protested. _I'm thinking of a hot girl I once saw in the Three Broomsticks...only naked._

"Right." said Hermione sceptically. "Now, let's try this again-"

"You still haven't answered my question, Granger."

"What question?" she asked exasperatedly.

"What do you think about?"

Hermione turned around so Malfoy wouldn't see the half-smile that had begun to play on her lips, the single bitter-sweet tear slide down her face.

"None of your business Malfoy."

"Tell me."

_She remembered it well. Mostly the colors, really. Autumn colors: burnt orange and rust red and sienna. The sun sinking slowly before them, bathing the word in gold, highlighting his carroty hair. They were lying there, on the leaves. Just breathing, and listening to the other breath. Their hearts beating to the same steady rhythm. _

_A breath of wind fluttered on her face. She closed her eyes. Her clothes felt thin, her skin felt thin, the atmosphere felt thin. Soon the line would fade away, a barrier would be breached. She opened her eyes. _

_Ron was hovering over at her, eyes pinning her to the floor, and he bent down… _

The memory was cut off. It hurt so much to think about him, so much that the memory was becoming steadily more unless for a Patronus…

Suddenly, she remembered where she was. The Room of Requirement, teaching Malfoy how to produce a Patronus, tellinghim about her happiest memory. It was pathetic really, how she so was desperate to talk to some one, _anyone, _that she had poured out this memory for Malfoy. She would have to be constantly on her guard.

"And you think I'm disgusting…who's the one who thinks of snogging Weasley?"

"Shut up, Malfoy." She said fiercely, slightly embarrassed. "Now, I think we should try a couple of minutes of just wand waving-"

"You were in _love _with him, weren't you?"

"Why do you constantly have to interrupt me?" Hermione asked exasperatedly.

"Why do you constantly have to avoid my questions?"

"Fine." She snapped. "Yes."

"Yes what?" He smirked again, that horribly _annoying _smirk.

"Yes, I was in love with Ron." She intoned, rolling her eyes.

_And still am. Maybe. _

"I've never loved."

He didn't sneer. He didn't smirk. He also, thankfully, didn't go all teary and gooey-eyed. He stated it simply and casually. A fact that was set in stone, that no amount time would weather away.

She cocked her head to one side, watching him carefully. Her eyes were like a bird's, dark and bright with intelligence.

"And why not?"

"Because Malfoys just don't love."

"Hmmm." She paused, still looking at him with a strange half-smile. "No wonder your memories aren't all that happy."

"Don't feel sorry for me, Granger." He said shortly. "It's not like I miss it, or anything…"

"Because how can you miss something when you never had it in the first place?" She finished.

The silence was different this time. Pregnant with thoughts that didn't need to be said. Wordlessly, Granger got up and left the room, letting her words hang in the air. Leaving Draco to wonder.

Wonder about what?

He didn't know. Because he still couldn't find what he was missing.

* * *

**A/N: **That was pretty long for me, but you guys waited so long for this update...Lo siento. Désolé. Sorry. For those who are reading the diary entries and thinking: _what the hell?_, don't worry, they are important to the plot. 

Thanks to all those who R&R!

_bright-eyesxX:_ One of the most flattering reviews I've gotten, which I definitely don't deserve. Glad you liked it!

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the partial plot.


	15. Transfigure

**Chapter 15 - Transfigure **

Hermione bent over her feather, glaring at it in fury and waving her wand over it with determination. She was supposed to be transfiguring it into a ferret, a spell that she _particularly _wanted to master.

She slid into that sub-conscious state she always reserved for schoolwork, that turned her into a living zombie. It was easier this way. If she just stayed in a trance, then troublesome thoughts would stay away from her head, and the work would be done faster.

"Wonderful, Miss Granger!"

The thoughts swarmed back as she was jerked into consciousness, a perfect caramel-colour ferret sitting on the table in front of her. It clacked aggressively.

"Thank you, Professor." She said, giving McGonagall a good-girl smile, with teeth. As the professor swept away, Hermione looked idly at the ferret, who eyed her hand resting on the desk and bared its teeth.

"Don't try anything." Hermione told it firmly. "Otherwise, I might decide to turn you back into a feather."

The ferret retreated and curled up into a small furry ball, still watching her distrustfully.

Hermione sighed and looked out the window. The sun was shining on the lake, leaves were drifting through the air. She wished she were a little girl again, trying to catch them before they fell. She wished that she could just run away from here.

Her thoughts wandered to that night with Malfoy. How sad, to never love or be loved. Sure, he was an asshole, he was the son of a Death Eater, he hated muggles and mudbloods, but that didn't mean that Hermione was blind to his personal problems. She was far to intelligent for that. But she didn't feel sorry for _him_. Just sorry that there were people so narrow-minded, so lacking in -

Something poked her in the hand, hard.

"Ouch!" She turned towards the ferret. "What did I tell –"

But the ferret was still in the same position. Instead, on her desk lay a small paper airplane. She picked it up, unfolded it, and smoothed out the creases.

_Hey_

She looked around the classroom, to meet the eyes of a grinning Harry. _Are you going to answer? _He mouthed. Hermione scanned the room for any sign of McGonagall. She was at the other end, frowning and glaring sharply at Neville, who's feather had turned a rather ugly motley orange. Quickly, Hermione scribbled two words on the parchment.

_**Hey yourself**_

She folded it swiftly, and waved her wand over it so that it zoomed out of her hand and hit Harry squarely on the back of the head. He glared at her playfully and she gave him an impish smile before turning back to the window.

Pretty soon she had an answer.

_Why aren't you talking to Ron? He's really miserable, you know. _

She frowned and wrote angrily:

_**Him? Miserable? He's the one that cheated on ME!**_

With an anxious glance at McGonagall, she sent the note back to Harry, watching as he read rapidly and instantly wrote an answer.

_He didn't think you were so upset about it. _

She crumpled the note in her fist, refusing to look at Harry. What a typically MALE answer. Why couldn't they…why wouldn't…why couldn't there be an other mountain troll? They could face it together, defeat it together, and they would all be reunited. Life was so simple when they were first years, she thought wistfully. When problems were so concrete they were monsters, and could be vanquished with a simple _Wingardium Leviosa_.

The parchment in melted into her fingers, the ink staining her hands.

When the bell rang, Professor McGonagall held the Gryffindors back, with the air of someone about to give some regretful news.

"This year," she sighed heavily, "Hogwarts will be holding a ball…"

This word was the cue for Parvati and Lavander to squeal, and Hermione to zone out. Balls. What a ridiculous idea. You would buy a million-galleon dress and sleek your hair and put on glitter-makeup and find someone that looked good on your arm, just for a single pretend-night. You would pretend you were in love, pretend that you had no problems, pretend that the life was endless partying and night stars and pink punch.

Hermione would not be going to the dance.

* * *

The Other Library had become something she craved, a sanctuary. She waited eagerly for the moment she could run away to hide between the four walls, among the forest of shelves and paper and ink. 

_I pack my bags. No, I am lying, I don't have enough things to call it packing, and but one bag, worn, with the handles falling off. I _throw _in my things: a wand (from Miss Griffith, almost new), a black dress (hand-me-down, special occasions), and an extra set of underclothes (absolutely no lace)._

_I say goodbye to Marta later that morning. She is sitting in that weedy, pebbly thing they call a garden, just staring into space. When I tell her goodbye, she looks at me with those big black eyes and didn't say a thing. There is no sob-filled farewell, no painful last words. There is only silence, the cold wind nipping at my face. Wordlessly, I go back inside._

_I wonder if Marta will miss me? Maybe. After all, we did stick together for all those years as misfits often do: I the oldest, and she the oddest. But then, It was I that did most of the sticking, and she the placid allowance. Marta is not one who minds being alone. _

_I give stiff, polite farewells to the matrons, teachers, and Miss Griffith. I do not say goodbye to the other girls. What for? They will not miss me, nor I them. _

_The carriage bounces on the cobblestones. It is hard to keep my seating, every once in a while I am flung off the smooth velvet. The windows are dirty. _

_When we reach the square, I stop the carriage driver. He grumbles, but I convince him that I will be quick. _

_The veil hasn't changed. It still hangs on the same arch, the fabric is still the same solid black. The houses surrounding the square still look blank and lifeless, the windows like vacant eyes. Everything is grey: the stones, the sky, the carriage driver's hat. The veil draws me to it, and I approach it slowly, savouring the feeling it always gives me. _

_It is then that I hear the whispers. _

_People are speaking in hushed voices, just out of earshot so that I can almost hear them, but not quite. I look around. _

_The square is empty. _

_The horses shuffle their feet and snort. The carriage driver stares straight ahead. I think, no, I am certain, that the voices are coming from the veil. I walk around it, but it looks exactly the same from every angle. There is no change, save the incessant muttering. _

_The carriage driver coughs loudly and asks, rather impatiently, if I am going to get back in anytime soon. I almost say no. I almost tell him to leave me here, with the cold biting wind. I almost give into my curiosity. _

_Almost. _

_But the man is waiting, Hogwarts is waiting, the world is waiting. So I go back inside, to the slippery velvet seats. I will be back. I will find out what the whisperings mean… _

It hit Hermione right then, a bolt from the blue. The black curtain, the arch, the whispering voices. She had seen it before. Two years ago, in the Department of Mysteries. She remembered very clearly how scared she had been of it, how she had begged a fascinated Harry to step away. Because she could feel those voices calling to her, drawing her in.

Sirius was beyond the veil now.

It was time to go to the library, the Hogwarts library.

* * *

Hermione walked towards the Great Hall, her nose stuck in _London Wizarding Monuments, _scanning the page for information on arches and veils. No luck so far. 

She moved with an innate sense of where the stairs and corridors were, but unfortunately, no idea where the newer obstacles were. As a consequence, she bumped into someone.

"Excuse me," she muttered.

Whoever it was didn't move. She looked up to meet the eyes of Ron Weasley.

She froze, a deer caught in the headlights. He was so close, each of the freckles on his nose standing out firmly. She could count his eyelashes. Her legs were like lead, anchors that dragged her down and kept her from escaping. Maybe she didn't want to run away.

"Hey Hermione."

It seemed like she was the only one who could feel the tension, almost tangible, in the air. He was cool and carefree, she ridged and tense.

"Look, I'm really sorry about Demelza and stuff..." he began.

"Ron, I don't want to hear it."

"Alright then..." he paused. "All I wanted to say was that you are a very good friend, Hermione. And I would really like to keep it that way." His eyes were big and wide, swallowing her up. "Please?"

She bit her lip and closed her eyes. "Look Ron, I really don't want to talk about this right now."

"Then you'll think about what I said?"

_How am I supposed to not think about it? You're in my thoughts, you're in my dreams, everything you've ever told me swirls round and round in my head like a whirlpool. I don't want to go under. I'm trying to swim. Please Ron, just please let me float. _

"Yes." She said finally, before walking away.

* * *

A pair of ears overheard. A twisted mind's cogs started whirring. Finally, something had clicked, there was work to be done. Starting with Hermione Granger...

* * *

**A/N: **No, Hermione will not get a sudden makeover and go to the Ball like a strange sort of wizarding Cinderella. I'm planning something less clichéd but no less romantic for that night. The plot should start heating up sometime soon...I know it's kind of boring so far, but I know where I'm taking this. 

Thanks to all of my reviewers: Ellis King, TwistedAsTheDickens, abbi, Hedwig's Return, sweet.sonata, AngelicOne, lavya0393, and Ramses-Lives. You guys really make my day!

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the partial plot.


	16. Chew

**Chapter 16 - Chew**

"I've got a plan." Draco announced to Pansy, who was stretched out languidly on a chair in front of the Slytherin Common Room fire. She looked at him with some surprise, that quickly melted into a look of admiration.

"Really? That's _great_!" Her eyes scanned his face carefully. A slight expression of pain wracked her face for a breath of a second, but was quickly smoothed over. He could tell she was still worried about him, but more worried about what would happen if he failed than anything else.

"So tell me about it."

He opened his mouth to tell her, yet again, that it was private information. But for some reason his thoughts were pulled away to that Patronus lesson with Granger…

_"No wonder your memories aren't all that happy." _

_"Don't feel sorry for me, Granger." He said shortly. "It's not like I miss it, or anything…" _

_"Because how can you miss something when you never had it in the first place?" _

The little bitch. She probably felt _sorry _for him now. _Sorry _for poor little unloved Draco. How dare the mudblood act like she knew him so completely? She knew nothing. Nothing about who he really was. Nobody knew who he really was.

"Draco?"

He looked at Pansy, considering her. She wasn't too ugly. She wasn't exactly beautiful either, but pretty enough for what he was about to do.

He bent over and kissed her. She was a little surprised, but melted into him quickly, as Pansy did. Draco hardly noticed. He cared nothing for Pansy. This was simply a way of proving to himself that Hermione Granger was wrong. He was a million miles away from the kiss. He was thinking about Granger, know-it-all Granger, mudblood Granger, Granger that lived and loved.

_Take that, Mudblood. _

* * *

Hermione was reading a book on the Ministry of Magic. Unfortunately, it was (predictably) almost devoid of any information on the Department of Mysteries. All records regarding it were vague, filled with paragraphs such as the one she had before her eyes: 

_The Department of Mysteries, possibly the most mysterious part of the Ministry, is notorious for its highly confidential nature: it is unknown what is done in this Department, what is the role of the Head of Department, and what its employees do. When questioned, they all either remain stubbornly silent, or respond stonily that it is impossible to disclose the information required. _

She slammed the book shut in exasperation. What a bunch of crap. The Department of Mysteries…mysterious? She never would have guessed.

Her eyes roamed around the Library, scanning it for something she might have missed. Nothing met her eye, except a redhead girl waving her hand wildly from a nearby table. Ginny. Hermione sighed before making her way over to the youngest Weasley.

"Hey Hermione!"

"Hey Ginny," Hermione said tiredly. She wanted to go back to her research.

"Sit."

Hermione sat.

"About you and Ron…"

"Ginny, I don't want to hear about it." She said automatically.

"I know." said Ginny sweetly. "But I'm telling you anyway."

Hermione rolled her eyes and put a listening face on resignedly.

"Hermione, he is really sorry. I'm not saying what he did was right…" she said hurriedly, seeing the indignant look on Hermione's face. "But he's a good guy. You know that. And her really does miss you terribly…"

Hermione remained expressionless, an empty plate. The food was not waiting to be served, but instead had already been eaten.

"He just isn't himself anymore. Yesterday he would barely talk to us…"

Hermione perked up slightly. He missed her? Did he want her back? Did- _You're acting so pathetic_. Said the little voice in her mind. _It's over between you and Ron, and you know it_.

Ginny continued, oblivious to the thoughts running through her Hermione's head. "…even Demelza could only get a few words out of him, and he usually tells her everything!"

Hermione's face turned once again stormy at Demelza's name, and Ginny looked at her sympathetically for a moment.

"Droobles?" she offered suddenly, holding out a stick of gum.

"What kind?" asked Hermione distractedly.

"Raspberry."

"No thanks. I'm allergic to anything raspberry."

Ginny shrugged and popped the gum into her mouth, chewing before blowing a giant raspberry-colored bubble that hovered over her head. Hermione looked down at the table, tracing the whorls in the wood with her fingertip.

"Hermione" said Ginny gently. "Maybe you and Ron just weren't meant for each other. Maybe it's time to let go…"

Her words hung in the air, opaque like the bubble. They drifted out of Hermione's view before she could pop them and hid among the bookshelves.

Neither Hermione nor Ginny said anything until Madame Pince swooped down like a bat, going into convulsive fits at the sight of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum exposed to her precious books, and threatening Ginny with detention. The librarian chose to ignore Hermione: she had developed, if not a love, a certain _tolerance _for the young witch ho so often had her nose stuck in a book.

As for Hermione herself, she barely noticed as Ginny threw her one last despairing glance before escaping Madame Pince's wrath. She was, once again, thinking, trying to unravel the knots of her life. But the threads only became more tangled, the knot only tightened. A raspberry bubble that popped in her hair, that resisted her attempts to remove it. Soon she would simply have to cut it out…

* * *

After Potions class had ended that day, Draco stayed behind. 

Professor Snape hung over his grade book, examining potion samples before writing the grade with a short black quill. He did not look up. Draco knew he was waiting for him to make the first move.

"Professor Snape…" He began.

The potions master looked up. "Yes, Draco?"

"I need," Draco Malfoy said carefully. "to know how to make a potion."

Snape raised one black eyebrow. "And what is the nature of this potion, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco remained silent for a moment. With Severus Snape it was always like a carefully-constructed dance: a single false move, and you would lose the thread of the music.

"A poison." He said bluntly.

Snape looked taken aback for a moment, the music skipped a beat. But his features quickly smoothed over, the music came back on track as if nothing had happened. Draco was still waltzing.

"I should inform you, Mr. Malfoy, that the use of poisons at this school is strictly...forbidden."

He was going to give him what he needed, Draco knew. This was only a game Snape played, twisting his words to give them safer meanings, hidden claws, fangs dripping with secret venoms. Draco simply had to play along, dance along...

"Of course, Professor." He said quickly. "It's merely for some research of mine. I wouldn't _dream _of actually using it."

"I am sure." Delicate, testing pause. "Well, you have been a remarkable student, Draco, and since you won't really _use _it..."

Snape paused again, black eyes boring into Draco steadily. _Lie, Draco, lie...he knows what you want it for, but he wants a lie..._All for the sake of the dance.

"Of course, sir." He said quickly.

"...then I suppose I could give you what you need." He suddenly seemed to stop waltzing and his voice lost the slightly hypnotic tone. "Come to my office tomorrow at six, and I'll see what I can do for you." His head bent once again over the grade book. Draco was dismissed.

He left the classroom quickly, elated. He had gotten through the first part alive.

* * *

**A/N:** I think the verbs I use in the chapter titles are becoming steadily more irrelevant :P...Sorry for the long wait for this chapter. I really hope the next one will be out faster, but I can't promise anything, with Christmas almost upon us and all...

The Raspberry Bubblegum is important. Very important.

I'm NOT going to tell you anything about Snape. I'm going to have fun with him.

Last chapter I got more reviews than for any chapter yet! Thanks to: _neonnoodlesoup, womp lover_ (sorry for the boring-ness...and this chapter didn't really heat up, did it? my bad...), _Maibie Josie, TwistedAsTheDickens, pinkicing101, Marrionette, Angelic-One, Ramses-Lives, bright-eyesxX, abbi, _and _Ellis King_

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the partial plot.


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